


The Worst At Everything (But Sex)

by KatMorningstar



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hatesex, Now our favorite unlikely pairing does too, We all love it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 10:02:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6952126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatMorningstar/pseuds/KatMorningstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raven and Murphy match on Tinder and attempt a one-night stand, despite discovering halfway through that they cannot stand each other. Could be disastrous, but like...it could also be great.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Worst At Everything (But Sex)

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: this is based on A Real Thing That I Did, because my friends (who insist that many things in my life sound like the plots of good fanfic) said it would make a good story. Also, I don't ship it, but my tumblr followers unanimously voted on this pairing, so. 
> 
> Title from what I always refer to The Guy as.

Despite not living in what anyone would define as a “big city”, it was really rare that Raven ever saw anyone from Tinder in real life. If she did, she didn’t notice, and if she did notice, she didn’t engage with them. But tonight was different. She was bored, and a bored Raven was a dangerous thing. 

The bar was packed, which was par for a Saturday night in a college town. Her friends took up easily a quarter of the stools at the bar itself, but the problem with big groups was how easily they became decentralized. Bellamy and Clarke were tucked closest to the wall, talking under the noise and laughing without looking at each other. Lincoln was out of town, so Octavia was basically mayor of the place, seeing a new friend every two minutes and holding four conversations at once. Monty and Miller were making fun of Bryan and Harper, something about how they couldn’t take shots. And Jasper was eyeing a girl across the room: a meek, doe-eyed brunette that Raven was vaguely aware of as an exchange student, probably from somewhere very culturally conservative. (Jasper had a type so specific it bordered on scary.) 

Raven was on the outskirts of the group, which ironically put her more in the middle of the crowd overall. Octavia’s scary friend Indra had leaned in next to her to order a drink a while back, and since they tended to hate the same people, they filled her ridiculously long wait time with shit-talking everyone else in their kickboxing class. When Indra finally got her beer, she took off, and Raven couldn’t say she was hating sitting alone for the moment. The bar had an older clientele-- mostly angsty grad students drinking their stipends with the occasional Hip Professor-- so it was a good crowd to just hang out in. No one was ever too obnoxious or gross, and Drunk Raven liked a little people-watching. 

She especially liked it, she decided, when the people in question were as aesthetically pleasing as the guy standing maybe five stools to her left. Had she been soberer, or given much of a damn at all, she would’ve kept to her usual MO and just checked him out in the mirror behind the liquor. Nice and subtle. But nope, she was pretty drunk, and he had what she considered an interesting nose, so she was pretty shameless about checking him out in profile. And as he cocked his head to listen to the guy next to him, it seemed like he didn’t have any problem checking her out in return. Something about his face was familiar, maybe, but it was probably just that he was her type-- floppy brown hair, broody eyes, general air of judgment. 

In her own opinion, Raven was plenty hot enough that, when the guy circled around his friend and headed her way, it wasn’t too much of a surprise. It was a bar, after all. By the time he was behind her, she had spun halfway around on her stool without quite meaning to. 

“Hey.” He had less of a smile and more of a scruff-obscured smirk. And then he did surprise her, saying, “Raven?” 

She tipped her head to one side, considering him as she let out a drunken smirk of her own. “Yeah,” she nodded slowly. “How do I know you?” 

“I’m Murphy-- John,” he said, as if that explained everything. 

“John,” she repeated, squinting a little. Maybe it was the squinting that did it, because between the angle of his face and the name, she put it together. “John! Right. Did I say I was gonna be here?” 

“No, and I meant it when I said I wasn’t coming out tonight. But a friend wanted to do a last-minute birthday thing, so,” he shrugged, looking a little self-conscious for the first time. It only lasted a second though. “Speaking of which, they’re out on the balcony, and I have to get back, but I don’t want you to think I’m abandoning you.”

Raven shook her head. What a freakish combination of abrupt and borderline considerate, not that he had any obligation to her anyway. “Go ahead.” She gave him a little push. “I’ll be here a while.” 

When John had disappeared into the crowd with a flash of teeth, Raven spun back around, only to be gently elbowed by the older man on the stool next to her. 

“That was good,” he nodded, Donald Trump tan and just as off-putting. “The way you let that guy down. You weren’t a bitch, but you sent him on his way.”

Something about his tone rubbed her the wrong way-- straight-up patronizing-- which is why she found herself saying, “I didn’t send him away, actually. I know him,” even though it wasn’t entirely true.

The extent of their relationship was essentially a “You and John are a Match!” and several frankly weird Tinder messages. The night they matched, the weekend before, he had sent her something along the lines of, “On a scale of one to breaking a heel, how drunk are you getting tonight?” Kinda skeezy, but not enough for her to block him. She’d said, “Not going out tonight, actually,” and left it at that.

Well. Until tonight. She had pregamed a little and was being very honest with herself about how open she was to a one-night stand at the moment. It had been a hot minute since she’d gotten laid, and hey, mama’s got needs. Semi-Skeezy John had seemed a fair bet in terms of random sex possibilities, so she’d told him that she might in fact be getting heel-breaking drunk tonight, if he was interested. He’d made some noncommittal comment about not really having plans, but maybe. So him turning up at the bar had been, as evidenced by the fact that she hadn’t even recognized him initially, completely unexpected. But not really an unwelcome surprise, to be honest.

He never did make good on his promise to come back, instead texting her to say that his friends all wanted to go to the new rooftop bar a few blocks away. Whatever. Easy come easy go. 

But she found her tune changing as she shuffled into her apartment at 2 am, more sexually frustrated than ever and convinced that she wanted someone to make _her_ come easy (and then go easy in the morning) so to speak. So, in a move that she acknowledged as thirsty but potentially worth it, she texted him again. 

“What are you doing?” At 2 am, that meant exactly one thing, and within ten minutes, she was giving him her address. Awful, awful idea, but she felt like she could probably kick his ass if it came down to it. Not like she didn’t have small weapons and other self-defense implements strewn around the apartment anyway. 

Roughly two minutes later, he showed up at her door with the remnants of a six-pack and a drunken grin. She was in her pajamas and unrepentant, but accepted a lukewarm Coors Light as he hopped up on her counter.

Honestly, she couldn’t tell you what he was talking about, or why he was talking at all, or why he was lingering in her kitchen, because she was pretty solidly confused by the whole thing. Her solution was to say, after five minutes of his monologue, “Okay, I’m just gonna...” and walk backwards to her room, making sure he was trailing behind her. 

Without further ado, she hopped on her bed and toggled her TV to Netflix, choosing some shitty B-rated SyFy original movie about zombies in a police station maybe? Background noise. Sprawled next to her, John was still talking.

“So, what are you doing, anyway? Like for school.”

“Mechanical engineering,” she swiveled to face him. “Does it matter?”

“Yeah it matters!” he scoffed, swaying a little. “It’s ridiculous. What are you even gonna do with that? Be a mechanic or some shit?”

“What? No--” 

“Listen to me. Listen,” John held up a finger. “In a couple years, all mechanical jobs are gonna be done by machines. Robots. Whatever. So unless you’re the one building and maintaining the robots, you’re not gonna have a job. And do you know-- do you know how many people it takes to maintain industrial machinery?”

She was still tipsy enough to say, “No,” even though she didn’t care about the answer. Frustration was rising up hot and fast. What was with this fucking dude? Was he oblivious or just that committed to being a fucking know-it-all? Moreover, did he honestly think he knew more about mechanical engineering than she did? 

“It takes about three people to service an entire factory’s worth of equipment, given--” he hiccuped, “--given the average sized American facility. Not that most factories are even gonna be in America anyway! As a business student, I can just go ahead an’ tell you they aren’t.” 

Raven broke. “Would you please shut up and take your pants off? You know I didn’t call you over to talk, right?” 

Unfazed, he broke into a smug grin. “Honestly, I was wondering when you were gonna say something. Jesus, it took you long enough.” Normally, she would think he was being sarcastic, but he honest to God seemed to blame her for his stupid-ass rambling. It was official: she fucking hated this guy. It wasn’t going to stop her from attempting to literally screw him to death-- hell, it might even help. But _still._

*******

Raven woke up the next morning less hungover than just really dehydrated. As she tried to roll toward the edge of her bed, she realized she was being held in place by a really firm arm around her ribs. She paused to take stock of her physical situation. There was the arm, which was pretty standard, but there was also the legs, and the face. The legs were tangled in hers from approximately the knee down, feet brushing softly against the soles of hers as they shifted in sleep. The face was nestled against her neck, nose buried in her hair, breath ruffling it in even puffs. John murmured something, soft and inaudible, or else just mouthed it, and his lips brushed against the tender skin at the base of her neck. 

She swallowed hard. Ever since the thing with Finn, and then the disastrous rebound with Wick, she hadn’t realized how long it had been since she felt genuinely...cared for. Raven knew good and damn well that wasn’t the case here either, but it felt so, so close. Close enough to pretend.

It took a minute to extricate herself, another to pull on a tank that was basically a dress, and another to stumble into the kitchen and fill a mug with water. She gulped it down (and then another), but she couldn’t help herself. Mug in hand, she went and slid back into bed, right where she had been. Without giving any solid indication that he was awake, John pulled her back in, slid his feet back between hers, and nuzzled his face closer. It wasn’t real, but God, it felt so good. Just for now.

Relaxed as she was, the lingering dehydration ensured that Raven couldn’t go back to sleep. Instead, she lay as still as possible and remembered what she could from the night before. Which was, thankfully, most of it.

*******

_As soon as she told him to take his pants off, he was on her, mouth on hers and hands at his belt. His were discarded in a flash, his underwear with them, and hers weren’t far behind. She arched to let him tug her top off. The up side of wearing pajamas was that she wasn’t wearing anything under them._

_“I definitely didn’t come over to watch this dumbass movie,” he laughed into her mouth. Not a nice laugh-- smug and unpleasant. She could taste it when they kissed. God, he was awful._

_Raven flipped them over and ripped his shirt over his head. “And here I thought you came to run your fucking mouth. Shut up.”_

_He laughed again, that haughty, bitter way people laugh when they’re insulted but their pride won’t let them show it, and bit at her collarbone. Somehow maneuvering himself over her and down, he tugged her legs apart a little harder than necessary. Either no one had ever explained the concept of taking your time, or he had been just as impatient as she had, because he wasted no time licking a hard stripe up her slit. Before she could cut off her surprised gasp, he fastened his mouth around her clit and stroked her opening with rough fingers. Had she been any less turned on or flooded with adrenaline, it would’ve hurt when he pushed one blunt finger into her. As it was, he slid in easily, and she barely felt it, until he crooked it forward, sending a tremor through her._

_“Fuck,” she breathed, torn between enjoying the moment and being pissed at how much she was enjoying it._

_The conflict didn’t last long, as roughly ten seconds later, he pulled himself up with a shit-eating grin. Wow. One minute of oral-- he clearly interpreted porn as reality._

_Fortunately, he didn’t seem to expect her to return the favor, as she would’ve flatly refused. Instead he slid up and rolled on a condom-- where had he gotten that? Seriously where had it come from? He covered her mouth with his as he slid into her, and good God. Raven was getting angrier by the second, because he was doing so many things that normally would not work for her, but at the moment, they really, really were. It was completely unfair, but when he dragged his hips against hers in a slow grind, she couldn’t bring herself to care. It wasn’t a move she’d experienced before, and while she wasn’t sold on it, the friction of his pelvis against her clit was too promising to ignore._

_The whole thing was, honestly, weird. Nothing he was doing would’ve done anything good for her at any other time, but somehow they’d shifted into an alternate dimension where she was completely loving it._

_They didn’t changed positions, and John held her pinned down with one shoulder-- she couldn’t have rolled them if she tried. And as much as she wanted to growl at him to go faster, she couldn’t find the breath to say it. That slow hip grind that she’d originally sort of rolled her eyes at, thinking it was some “technique” he’d read online...Jesus Christ, did it sneak up on her. Nothing if not consistent, he kept at it, slow and forceful and even, and it wasn’t long before she was blindsided, coming hard with almost no build-up. She gasped and arched toward his mouth, but he pulled it just out of reach, either oblivious or deliberately teasing. Something told her it was the latter, and he was enjoying the power trip._

_After that, he did switch it up, leaning back and pulling one of her legs to rest against his chest, ankle over his shoulder. It was fine by her while she recovered, but when she sat up to move them, he pushed her back down flat._

_That did it. As much as Raven was enjoying this, enough manhandling was enough. She dug her heel into the back of his shoulder and yanked him forward, digging her nails into one bicep. He caught himself on one elbow, and before he could get his balance, she rolled him like an alligator, just as mindless and bloodthirsty. When she straddled his hips, he got the message and went with it, shifting to press his back into her headboard._

_John let her take over for the moment, but he sank his teeth into her shoulder like a punishment. Completely without filter, she growled, “You are the worst.”_

_Without missing a beat, he fired back, “I fucking hate you,” punctuating it with a vicious snap of his hips._

_In a second, she was boneless, shaking, so close to the edge. Whatever it said about her that those were the words that made her clamp down on him like a hot vise, she’d think about it in the morning._

_He took this as an opening to flip them again, resuming that dragging friction that was simultaneously too much sensation and not nearly enough. Had she had the presence of mind to think of anything but this, Raven might’ve been irritated at not being on top for longer. She did not._

_“What do you need?” he panted, nose brushing hers. “Tell me.”_

_“I just--” she gulped, “that, don’t stop, just harder.”_

_The guy might be a one-trick pony, but man was it a good trick. John bore down on her, surprisingly heavy, and slammed into her relentlessly. He wasn’t close enough to kiss, so Raven satisfied herself with pressing small but fierce bites into the line of his collarbone. They’d be bruises by morning._

_Finally, the constant pressure built and bubbled over; she sucked in a breath-- increased oxygen to the brain made orgasms stronger, and she was a goddamn scientist-- and held it as she rode out the clutching waves. She was still twitching with the aftershocks of it when his thrusts stuttered, becoming shorter, as if he couldn’t stand to be too far out of her. His head fell to her shoulder, and a moment later, he sighed and rolled off._

_John was only still for a second before he got up to throw away the condom and turn off the TV. According to her alarm clock, it was 3 am, so Raven wasn’t too surprised when, instead of leaving, he slid back into bed next to her. She wasn’t, however, expecting him to slip an arm behind her shoulders and tug her to lie against his chest._

_His breathing was heavy but easy now, and he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. In the dark of her room, he whispered, “Are you happy?”_

_Raven had no idea how to answer that. She was shocked that he would ask, confused if he actually cared. But she was mostly tired, so she gave in, draped an arm across his chest, and hummed something she was sure he would take as an affirmative._

*******

_Sometime when the sky was just lightening to gray, she woke up to him curled against her back, one hand reached down to stroke into her folds from behind. She made a sound of grumpy protest and wriggled. He just puffed out a breath that might’ve passed for a laugh and kept going._

_“Fuck off.” She shoved his arm away. “Let me sleep or get out.”_

_He laughed again and pulled her back flush against him, finally keeping his hands to himself._

*******

Raven was still thinking about it when she got up again to start the coffee maker. It was almost nine, and she had things to do that didn’t involve some asshole lounging around in her bed.

He was awake when she came back in, and all at once, she was self-conscious. All she could think to say was, “You want some coffee?” 

“Obviously. What is that, your second?” 

She looked at the mug in her hands. “Just water.” So he had been awake before, when she came back and shamelessly soaked up all the false affection she could. It burned to know, burned in her chest, but she couldn’t take it back now. And since she didn’t feel like talking or even being conscious anymore, she slipped back into bed, rolled over, and said over her shoulder, “Wake me up with the coffee maker beeps.” 

The mattress shifted as he did, and he breathed against her shoulder, “No.” His hands were back between her legs, shortly followed by the blunt, heavy head of him. 

Part of her fizzled with annoyance-- could she not just sleep?-- but she couldn’t deny she wanted it. Not from this angle, though.

So when the coffee machine finally did beep, she was riding him with every ounce of aggression that had been building up since the night before. “God, I fucking hate you,” she groaned, echoing his words, testing them. Yep, saying them was almost as satisfying as hearing them, and she knew he could feel her shiver.

He just grinned. “You’re the worst.” 

*******

Ten minutes later, she pushed a cup of black coffee into his hands, because she’d be damned if she wasted her expensive vanilla creamer on him, and settled into her usual spot in bed. They were quiet, side by side, and she could feel a contented smile playing around her lips. The guy was awful, truly awful, but this hadn’t been a bad time, overall.

John must’ve seen her smiling. “Hey,” he cut his eyes at her, smirking once again, “don’t start acting all nice now. You’re still a huge bitch.”

Raven nodded affably. “Never said I wasn’t.” 

*******

“Y’know,” he sat on the edge of her bed to pull on his shoes, “we could do this again. I mean, I live less than two minutes away.” 

“It’s a tiny town,” she snarked from behind him, “everyone lives near each other.”

“No, I mean it. You know the condos across the road? I literally live right there. I was drunk as fuck last night and just walked over.”

Raven couldn’t hold in a shocked bark of laughter. “You’re shitting me. We’re neighbors?”

“Yep. And I go running down this road all the time. Realistically, I could just stop by after.” He made a ‘gimme’ motion at her phone, which she was currently staring at, contemplating whether or not to block him on Tinder.

After a moment of intensely distrustful hesitation, she closed Tinder and handed it over. A second later, he gave it back, open on the contact screen for “Murphy”. 

“Assuming that’s your last name, not some weird alias?” 

“Good call, smartass. Text me later.” Without any further ado, he plunked his empty coffee cup next to her TV and let himself out. 

When she heard her front door click shut, Raven looked back down at her phone and opened the ‘edit contact’ screen. Seconds later, it read “Murphy Who’s Bad at Everything But Sex”.

Maybe she’d text him. Maybe she wouldn’t. He was a weird guy who did weird shit. Nothing he did in bed should’ve worked for her, and all that cuddling should’ve been awkward, what with the verbalized hatred and all. But all the same, something told her she probably would.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Things I learned writing this:  
> #1 I might be bad at writing smut. This is my first try, and there may never be a second  
> #2 Writing smut based on your own life experiences is simultaneously invasive and oddly therapeutic.  
> #3 Everything is cuter in fanfic. Clearly this did not work out irl, because shitty people are shitty.
> 
> Come yell at me [on Tumblr](http://www.maryam0revna.tumblr.com) about how inappropriate it is to broadcast your sexual experiences and how clearly visible my discomfort at writing smut is in the text.  
> And because I'm still a salty bitch, even after getting a good fic plot out of the deal...fuck you, George.


End file.
